King of Hawthorne Prep

“That’s right.” He gives me a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as his gaze rakes over me. “I take it you two are acquainted?”

Since I have no desire to share exactly how familiar I am with his son, I say instead, “We have first hour literature class together.”

“Yes, I believe he mentioned that.” There’s no warmth in the murky depths of his eyes as they continue to assess me.

It takes all of my self-control not to squirm beneath his forthright appraisal.

What is he searching for?

“Your parents mentioned that you’re a four-point student.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Why would they discuss my grades with this stranger? I give Mom a bit of side eye, wondering how something like that would come up in conversation. They have never been the kind of parents who boast about their children’s achievements.

“And you’ve been taking college prep and advanced placement classes the last three years of high school?”

Sheesh. They really have done a deep dive into my academics. I find it difficult to believe this man is interested in my coursework and grades.

Unsure what to say, I add, “So far, I’ve taken eight AP classes.”

Dad pipes up with, “She also scored a—”

Keaton shoots my father a harsh glare and Dad immediately falls silent before lifting the crystal tumbler to his lips again and draining the contents.

What the hell was that about?

My stunned gaze snaps back to Kingsley’s father when he says, “I heard you’re interested in applying to Northwestern, the University of Chicago, and the University of Michigan.” I don’t get a chance to verify the information before he continues. “What about something closer to home?”

Again, I stare at my parents from the corner of my eye as my brain whirls in confusion. I remain silent, waiting a heartbeat or two for them to jump in and save me from this bizarre conversation. It’s only when their desperate gazes stay pinned to mine that I realize they have no intention of intervening.

I’m on my own.

“Umm, I hadn’t really thought about any other colleges. Those have always been my top three choices and with my grades and SAT score, I’m confident about my chances of at least getting into one of them.”

Keaton tilts his dark head as he contemplates me. Unease pools in the pit of my belly as I shift beneath his unrelenting gaze, only wanting to escape his overbearing presence. The way he continues to grill me makes this feel more like a hardcore interview.

What exactly I’ve applied for remains elusive.

“It might be something to consider,” he murmurs.

Even as he raises his tumbler to his lips, his attention stays pinned to me.

Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, I clear my throat and turn to Mom with a tight smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Austin.”

“Ah yes, the heir apparent to Hawthorne Industries.” Keaton glances around as if expecting my brother to materialize out of thin air now that his name has been mentioned. “I’ve heard so many interesting things about the young man.”

Shock washes over me and I glance at my parents to see if they’ve detected the same snide tone, but their expressions remain impassive as if he has said nothing to give offense.

Dad raises his finger at a passing waiter, signaling for a refill.

Another drink?

What the fuck is going on around here?

Fed up with the forced banter, I slip from Mom’s embrace. It takes effort to keep the smile pasted in place as I lie through my teeth. “It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Rothchild.”

“Please, call me Keaton.” One corner of his mouth lifts sardonically. “We’re neighbors. I’m sure now that we’ve gotten to know one another, we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

I truly hope not.

“Take care.” With a relieved breath, I move through the crowd. The air inside the house has turned stifling with the amount of people crammed into the space. Before I realize it, I’m heading toward the backdoor that leads outside. I’m in dire need of fresh air. After that bizarre conversation, I’ve earned a few minutes to myself. It’s like my parents had given him my pedigree.

Why?

Why would they do that?

Unease slithers down my spine before I banish the peculiar feeling. This party is unpleasant. It’s nothing more than that. In a few hours, it’ll be over, and these people will get the hell out of my house.

No one bats an eye as I quietly escape through the patio door. As soon as my heels hit the stamped cement, I pause and inhale a deep breath before slowly releasing it back into the atmosphere.

Then I do it again until the tension leaks from my muscles.

Better.

Much better.

As I move toward the pool, I toss a glance over my shoulder at the lit-up house. A feeling of dread crashes over me. The need to run away pulses through me until it’s all I can think about.